


When I Am Laid in Earth

by jaldon



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Death, jason makes me... really emo, the death is jason
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-15
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-23 14:06:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14935731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaldon/pseuds/jaldon
Summary: He tries to ignore the blood- his blood- that seeps from his back, his head, his mouth. He tries to ignore the pain that washes over him as he moves.Oh God, there’s so much blood.





	When I Am Laid in Earth

**Author's Note:**

> anways im sorry in advance. this just... happened. 
> 
> the title is from Dido's Lament from purcell's opera Dido and Aeneas. I didn't include the whole thing in the fic but i found the lyrics very fitting so im including them here (recit and aria):
> 
> Recitative:  
> Thy hand, Belinda, darkness shades me,  
> On thy bosom let me rest,  
> More I would, but Death invades me;  
> Death is now a welcome guest.
> 
> Aria:  
> When I am laid, am laid in earth, May my wrongs create  
> No trouble, no trouble in thy breast;  
> Remember me, remember me, but ah! forget my fate.  
> Remember me, but ah! forget my fate.
> 
> Oh also sorry again bc i didnt edit this at ALL and i only glanced at a death in the family for like one (1) hot sec

Jason’s been awake on and off throughout the beating- it hurts so, so much and it’s a relief when unconsciousness takes him. But not for long, not long enough, because then he’s hearing that  _ terrible laughter _ and feeling the crowbar swing down again. 

_ Whish _ is the the sound of the crowbar whistling as it comes down and  _ crunch _ is the sound of his bones breaking. He can barely feel it anymore, barely feel which specific ribs are breaking (numbers seven and eight) but the pain is there. Blood dribbles out of his mouth an down his chin. 

_ It’s sticky _ , he thinks, licking his parched lips.  _ And salty _ . 

He can barely see through his tears- his eyes are practically swollen shut, and his eyelashes stuck together- but the air is… wispy?  _ Smoke _ , he realizes,  _ from the cigarette Sheila is smoking.  _ He could use a cigarette right about now, but he hasn’t in years because Bruce and Alfred don’t like that at the manor. 

The crowbar comes down again, hitting his shoulder, his neck- just barely avoiding splattering his brains across the warehouse floor.  _ Lucky.  _ But he’s pretty sure it’s not lucky because it hurts so bad and the Joker is still laughing- the Joker wants him to suffer. Wants him to be in pain. A choked sob escapes Jason’s lips, a cascade of blood coming with it. 

And the Joker laughs again. “What’s that, little bird?” He says. “I couldn’t hear you.”  His laughter fills up the warehouse. Sheila flinches, or maybe she doesn’t, Jason can’t tell. Cigarette smoke is the only thing he can see- cigarette smoke and his own blood. 

“Let’s spill some of those bird brains, shall we?” The Joker says and guffaws. Jason can imagine the sickening smile spreading over his face. And then the crowbar, and then the pain that’s worse than anything. It takes a minute for Jason to be able to think, to be able to feel anything other than pain. 

A skull fracture.  _ When I make it home _ , he thinks,  _ no, not when,  _ if _ I make it home, Bruce won’t let me patrol for weeks. _ And for some reason, that’s the worst part of the whole situation. He hates disappointing Bruce, and yet he has. 

He must have drifted off again, because the next thing he knows, Sheila is crying. _Like she has any right_. The Joker is leaving (“Tootles, little bird! I really have to _blast_ but I hope you like the surprise I left for you. You’ll find it’s quite _explosive_!”) and then it’s just the two of them. Jason and his mother that isn’t. 

Jason watches tiredly, without moving, as she pulls against the ropes the Joker had tied her to a pole with. He knows before she tries to wriggle out it that it’ll be pointless- the Joker wouldn’t just  _ let her _ escape- but his heart drops nevertheless when the ropes remain taught.  _ Why is she so panicked,  _ he thinks, and then he remembers the bomb. 

The bomb, and the red alarm clock counting down menacingly on top of one of the crates. (So he’s forgetting things now? He’s definitely concussed, then.)

“Kid,” says Sheila, like she’s forgotten his name. Has she forgotten it? Does she care that little? “Can you stop the bomb?” 

Jason doesn’t think he can. And even if he could, Jason doesn’t even think he can pull himself off the ground. But this is his mother- no- this is the woman who birthed him, and he feels like he has to.  _ I’ve been saving her my whole life _ , he thinks.  _ No. That’s Catherine. _ Catherine, his real mother. 

He thinks of Catherine in her last days, and then he thinks of Catherine on her good days. They went to the library, and she’d check out all the classics. Shakespeare, Dickinson, Bronte, Dickens, everything they could find. She’d read aloud to him. Somewhere inside himself, he finds the strength to get up. 

He tries to ignore the blood- his blood- that seeps from his back, his head, his mouth. He tries to ignore the pain that washes over him as he moves. 

_ Oh God, there’s so much blood. _

He drags himself to the ticking clock. Each time the number changes a fresh shiver is sent down his spine. He keeps moving. (It feels like forever.) If he does this, if he just does this than maybe Bruce will let him stay. For Bruce, he’d do anything. For Sheila? For Bruce. 

He’s a good boy.  _ No. _

A good son?

A good soldier. 

The clock- the bomb- is right in front of him, and he knows instantly that’s far too low. He will not be able to stop the clock in time, he will not be able to save Sheila or himself. Nevertheless, he tries. Whether it’s as a show for Sheila or he’s still clinging desperately to the hope that they’ll make it out alive, he can’t tell, but Jason knows that he can’t stand to just lay down and wait for death. (Because he’s watched it happen. Because he knows, up close and personal, how terrible it is. Because it would disappoint his mother and Bruce.)

One minute and thirty five seconds. 

He pulls desperately at wires. Red, green, white, black, blue. He has a chance, doesn’t he? Maybe he’ll be able to deactivate the bomb by luck alone. 

But he can’t because this is the Joker, and life (Jason’s, in particular) is never this easy. 

He can’t do it. 

“Gotta get you out of here,” he says to Sheila. Her eyes flash, panicked, as she realizes that he can’t fix their situation. He crawls to her, because he can’t walk. (It’s strange, really, that he’s almost sixteen years old and this is the first time he’ll ever crawl to the woman who birthed him. The last time, too. It strikes him as ironic, in a twisted way.)

Once he’s untied her bonds, he collapses back onto the ground, unsure if he’ll be able to get up again.  _ What will Bruce think? _ Jason wonders.  _ Would he rather that I die on my feet? _

Sheila starts for the door.  _ Good _ , he thinks, because for some reason he doesn’t- he  _ can’t _ \- want this woman who has wronged him in so many ways to die. His eyes drift shut. ( _ For the last time? _ ) He feels arms around his shoulders, and then Sheila is lifting him up. For a moment, he can imagine his mother holding him like this. 

They run for the door. 

It’s locked. The Joker’s locked them in. Jason shouldn’t have expected anything less, and yet it still hurts. He looks at Sheila, and she looks at him. Her eyes are wet with tears as she glances to something next to him, behind him.  _ The timer. _ He turns his neck just slightly, and he can see its red numbers blinking :01. 

First comes the light, then the  _ boom _ , then the heat at his back. 

Time slows. 

_ I’m sorry, Bruce, _ Jason thinks.  _ I’m sorry, Alfred. I’m sorry, Dick. I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, Sheila. _

For the first time since he was seven years old, huddled in the corner of his Willis’s shabby apartment, listening to his father scream, he is afraid. He doesn’t want to go, he realizes. He hasn’t wanted to  _ go _ since Bruce took him in- it’s his worst fear. And now he has to. 

He hopes Bruce will miss him. He hopes they all will. 

_ Remember me, but ah! Forget my fate.  _

He hurts,  _ aches _ from old wounds and new. 

_ I’ll see you soon, Mom.  _

Time stops. 

**Author's Note:**

> thanks so much for reading! please leave kudos/comments if you can ;u; <3


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